


Born in Destruction and Fire (to quench the flames and heal the world)- World Building Ficlets

by Reiya_Wakayama



Category: Naruto
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Brotherly Bonding, Canonical Character Death, Child Abuse, Corporal Punishment, Duty, F/M, Family, Forced Marriage, Forced Pregnancy, Gen, Hashirama needs a hug, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Madara is a good older brother, Senju Tobirama Needs a Hug, Theft, Training, Uchiha Tajima and Senju Butsuma are not nice people, Warring States Period (Naruto), Whipping, and a asshole but what siblings aren't?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:55:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29331177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reiya_Wakayama/pseuds/Reiya_Wakayama
Summary: A series of ficlets for world building of an eventual fic.
Relationships: Senju Hashirama/Uzumaki Mito, Uchiha Madara's Mother/Uchiha Tajima
Comments: 10
Kudos: 52





	1. Lessons

**Author's Note:**

> I lied to myself in that these would be random when they're actually all connected because I have a mighty need to make my life harder by taking on another fic idea. XD Not sure when I'll write the actual fic but I'll keep world building for now.
> 
> The title is a line from the game: Horizon Zero Dawn.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lesson isn’t learned unless there are consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some not so happy stuff. Poor Tobi.

Madara shakes the grain merchant’s hand, sealing the deal as their haggling came to a close. Handing over the gold, he left instructions with the man to deliver the sacks of grain to the inn he is staying at, having informed the owner what would be coming beforehand. It’s easier to seal his clan’s winter food supply when not in the middle of town where everyone can see. No need for possible thieves to know what he carried on his person, not that anyone would be able to actually steal it from him, but it’s such a hassle to deal with when a bit of prudence can save so much time.

Thanking the man again as he begins to rally his assistant to begin working on his order, Madara finally lets some of the tension in his frame go. The last of his clan’s winter stores has been bought; they’re set for the coming cold and dark months. Skirmishes with the Senju have tapered off as the demands of the fall harvest took their toll and with the encroaching winter, they would all but stop, no one wanting to fight in the middle of winter unless they had to. How did that old saying go: an army moved on its stomach? They had enough stores to last through the winter, not to enough to feed hungry shinobi after extended battles.

Feeling relaxed enough to enjoy himself, he decides to peruse the market place and see if there is anything that caught his eye. Maybe something for Izuna? Checking that his henge is still in place and his chakra still under wraps, he sets out at an ambling stroll, letting the easy chatter of civilians wash over him.

He doesn’t get to come to this town that often, usually delegating it to Izuna to buy supplies for the clan or sell their metal work to the various merchants that passed through. But Izuna is down with a cold, his brother moping and miserable with every cough and sneeze and so Madara got to go instead. Perhaps he should get a treat for his brother, to apologize for laughing at him.

Snorting, he lets his eyes rove over the stalls around him, noting brightly colored fabrics and shining metal from knives and farm tools that looked fresh from the forge. The smell of cooking food wafts around him on the cool autumn breeze and makes his mouth water. He hasn’t had anything since the paltry breakfast he had this morning in the inn.

The bright peals of laughter catches his attention as he makes his way to one of the many food stalls, letting his nose decide for him what he wants. Turning, he looks over to see a group of four children, ranging anywhere from eight years of age to the oldest, looking twelve or thirteen. The youngest has a brightly colored ball and is tossing it to another, laughing.

Madara can’t help but smile at the sound. He’s always had a soft spot for children, especially his clan’s children, letting them climb all over him and showing small tricks of simple jutsus to wow them. His first act as clan head had been to put his foot down on the age limit of shinobi children. He was done seeing child sized coffins being lowered into the ground.

He’s turning away, about to decide on his meal when he sees it, just out of the corner of his eye. Shinobi reflexes are too ingrained to ignore it, spotting the sudden burst of speed, the quick hands snagging a shiny piece of something off of a merchant’s table while they’re busy with a client.

The child, turning away, grinning in satisfaction at being unnoticed, doesn’t see the guard come up behind them, having noticed the clever theft. A heavy hand lands on their shoulder, spinning them around and he freezes, spying the clan symbol on the child’s back: Senju.

Four Senju children, especially shinobi children, would not be left unsupervised in town, not so far from the Senju Compound. Madara flicks his gaze around, seeking out their guardian and is rewarded for his search when a familiar head of white hair comes into view.

Madara watches as Senju Tobirama, dressed in his usual blue armor and fur ruff, make his way quickly towards the confrontation. Curious, if only to see his enemy clan caught from such sloppy sleight-of-hand, Madara edges a little closer, listening into the confrontation.

“Is there a problem?” Tobirama asks evenly.

“You could say that,” the guard grumbles out. “This little thief took something worth quite a lot of money. Thievery is ten lashes under the Daimyo’s laws.”

“We will of course pay for the item. There is no need to resort to such drastic measures,” Tobirama tries to reason, edging the other children behind him until only the held child is left.

“Theft is still theft, whether it’s paid for afterwards or not. The law is clear and the punishment must be paid,” he intones, starting to drag the child towards the innocuous post in the center of the market square. A public whipping post, to show all what happens if you get caught stealing.

“Halt,” Tobirama orders, and the guard looks back. “As his guardian, his crimes fall on me. I was lax in my supervision and it led to this moment. I will take his lashes in his stead.”

“Tobirama-sama,” the child starts, shocked.

“You will be silent,” he orders, icy tones a whip crack through the air.

“You’ll take the thief’s lashes for him?” he asks, just to be sure and Tobirama nods in acceptance, expression void of any emotion. He looks back to the merchant that has been watching the whole time. “Does this satisfy you?” he asks him.

“It does,” he agrees, accepting back the item stolen.

“This way,” he orders and Tobirama nods, pulling the guilty child back and gently pushing him towards the other milling children.

“Tobirama-sama,” the child cries, sniffing softly. “I didn’t mean-,” he tries.

The albino sends him a sharp look and his teeth click as his mouth snaps closed. “Remember this moment closely,” he says, voice a low rumble, “A lesson isn’t learned unless there are consequences.”

Turning stiffly away, he follows the guard to the post, slowly and methodically stripping his armor off with practiced hands. Setting it in a neat pile next to the post, he smoothly unties his obi, letting the clothe strip pool on top of his armor before he reaches up and pulls off his top, back bared for the lashes to come.

Turning, he faces towards the post, wrapping his hands around it as he kneels down. Madara starts, staring intently at the man’s back, signs of previous whipping having left thick, knotted scars crisscrossing his back, the skin silvery against his already pale skin.

Grunting, the guard positions himself behind the Senju, removing the whip strapped to his waist. With ease of much practice, the first crack of the whip sounds loud in the suddenly silent square, lashing across the top of pale shoulder blades and leaving a thin line of red. Slowly, red wells up and overflows, thin lines of crimson, so like his facial markings, sliding down his back as the second crack sounds, leaving another line.

Each crack is met with a muffled sob from the child and icy indifference from Tobirama, red eyes devoid of any pain. The only sign of him feeling each lash is the tightening of thin fingers around the post. The final lash cracks out, striking his shoulder and curling around the tight muscles of his stiffly held right arm.

“The punishment is fulfilled,” the guard intones, stepping back and tucking the whip away again. Nodding curtly, Tobirama stands stiffly, hands using the post for support as he bends down to pick up his top and obi, gently easing the fabric over his bleeding back before tying it loosely.

Picking up his armor, he doesn’t don it, instead turning to the children still milling off to the side, eyes wide and tears streaking their cheek. “We’re leaving,” he orders and they nod silently, following behind obediently as he leads the way from the market. The crowd parts silently around them, watching them leave.

Madara watches their trail, eyes spying the slow spread of red through the fabric of Tobirama’s top. He thinks back on those scars and wonders what lessons he was forced to learn, to have endured such treatment. Grunting in annoyance, mood thoroughly spoiled, Madara turns away and heads back for the inn. With any luck, the grain will arrive soon and he can leave this town and head back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can probably guess who whipped Tobi. I'm planning a fic for the particular bit of angst.


	2. Loyalty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family is everything and she'll protect it with everything she has.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need more Touka love.

She’s ten, the first time she meets them. The only child of Butsuma’s youngest sister, now an orphan with the death of her mother and father, she’s unsure of what to expect. The Senju Compound is large, much larger than the Shiga Compound was, though even that small compound is nothing more than ash and smoke now, brought to ruin in this war between clans. She’s one of the only survivors of the tragedy, sent to live with distant relations now that she’s alone.

They greet her just inside the gate, the five of them. Butsuma, her uncle, is stone faced and impossible to read, dark eyes looking over her to gauge her worth as a tool, not a person. She remembers her mother’s fond tales of a kind older brother and wonders what happened to change that.

She looks to Hashirama, with his nut brown skin, strange bowl cut and infectious grin. He’s the same age as she is and yet she’s taller than him, it’s a strange thought to have. He waves excitedly, so different from Butsuma it’s hard to look at.

She looks at Tobirama, moon pale and sharp red eyes. He’d look almost cold, except for the faintest smile in the corners of his mouth and the warmth she can see hidden in his eyes. He nods to her, and then elbows Hashirama when he bumps into him with a sharp glare.

Her gaze travels to Itama, quite, shy, smiling gently at her. He seems to almost disappear in his older brothers’ shadows, his dark and light hair a strange contrast but he seems actually happy to meet her.

Finally, she looks at Kawarama, the small boy only five years old and struggling to keep his back straight and shoulders back, wanting to be taken so seriously, to be seen as old enough to be standing next to his older brothers. He smiles though, waving like Hashirama, but much more restrained.

Gripping her naginata in sweaty palms, she bows low to her new family. A heavy hand settles on her shoulder and she looks up to see Butsuma standing before her, an approving nod sent her way. “From this day forward, you are Senju Touka,” he intones, griping her shoulder tightly before letting her go and stepping back.

As Butsuma walks away, the four boys crowd around her, asking excited questions of her as they begin leading her from the gate towards the main house and accepting her into their lives so easily. Blinking rapidly to keep the tears that spring into her eyes from falling, she grins faintly and decides then and there that she’ll do everything in her power to protect this new family. She won’t allow any more family to fall, not if she can help it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Touka's mother was married off to form an alliance and after the small clan was basically destroyed, she was sent to live with her closest living relatives, Butsuma and his sons.


	3. Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breathe in...Breathe out...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Madara and Izuna fluff, because who doesn't love the brothers.

With a wince, he lets the jutsu go, shaking out stinging fingers. Looking down, he sees the skin is starting to get a little red, the flames having burned it slightly just from proximity heat. Ignoring it, he drags in a lung full of air as he moves through the seals again and, bringing his hand to his mouth, he blows out in a sudden rush of air, willing the flames to be bigger, brighter.

The sad plume of fire is nothing compared to his brothers’ great fireball. Huffing in irritation, he lets it fade out again and kicks at the ground in annoyance. He’s been at this for hours now but no matter how hard he blows or how much chakra he pushes into it, the fireball barely changes.

He hears a snicker behind him and turns to glare at Hikaku as his cousin walks passed the training ground he’s been using. “Very impressive,” he murmurs with a smirk and Izuna sees red, reaching for a kunai to fling at the vexation that is his older cousin.

Before the kunai can leave his grasp, it’s plucked by quick fingers as a voice calls out, “I remember a certain moment when you singed off your eyebrows when learning to use the Great Fireball.”

Huffing in annoyance, Hikaku turns away and continues on whatever errand he had been on. Izuna jerks around to look up at his older brother, Madara’s eyes following Hikaku’s path before looking back down at him. “Hey, munchkin,” he murmurs.

“I’m not that short,” Izuna cries out, aiming a kick at his brother’s shin, though it doesn’t connect, the quick bastard.

“Shorter than me,” he says with a grin, ruffling his youngest brother’s hair. His hand pulls back and gentle fingers touch around his mouth, where the skin feels tight and itchy from so much time practicing with fire. “You’ve been practicing hard, I see.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like it’s helping,” he mutters, arms crossing defensively over his chest as he looks away.

“What’s wrong?” Madara asks, looking concerned.

Izuna shrugs, waving him off, “I don’t need your help. I’ll figure it out eventually,” he mutters, starting to turn away.

“You’re allowed to ask for help you know,” Madara says gently, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and squeezing companionably. “That’s what family is for,” he adds.

Side eyeing his brother, he sighs, shoulders drooping in frustration. “My fireball isn’t as big as yours or everyone else’s,” he mutters, feeling childish complaining about it.

Madara just hums softly in understanding, “Alright, show me how you do it,” he orders, letting him go and stepping back to put some distance between them. When Izuna hesitates, he waves his hands, “Come on and show me your fireball.”

Nodding, Izuna settles into a ready stance, slowly pulling in air as he signs his seals and then in a rush, forces the air out, flames blooming in front of him. It’s a little bigger than his last one, but not by much and its size is paltry compared to his brothers’ still. Letting it go, he slumps his shoulders, waiting for the verdict.

“Hmm, I think I see where you’re going wrong,” Madara says finally after a long drawn out silence.

“Really?” he asks excitedly.

Madara nods, coming close again, “You stance, chakra and seals are all good. It’s not a hard technique, designed so even young shinobi can use it,” Madara explains, which he already knows this from father when he was first showing him the technique. “But your breathing is all wrong.”

“You breathe in and breathe out, how hard can it be?” Izuna grumbles.

Madara shakes his head, “It’s not that simple,” and then he pauses, mulling an idea over in his head. “Come with me,” he orders and Izuna follows, curious more than anything. Madara leads them to the craft section of the compound, where the smithies and glass blowers takes up a large section of the village and all the buildings are built of stone with no wood to catch in case of sparks. He leads him through the shops until he finds one of the glass blowers still inside, working at their craft. “Here, watch” he says quietly and Izuna does.

The woman stands with their back to them, twirling a pipe in the blaze in front of her. Even from here, he can feel the heat against his face. She pulls the pipe from the flames and he sees that there’s molten glass in a glowing ball at the end.

Pulling the pipe to her lips, she blows into it, slow and steady, while at the other end, the glass begins to expand. As she twists the pipe, keeping the molten glass from falling, she pulls in another breath and blows again, the ball of glass expanding once again, doubling in size.

“See how she blows the glass: a slow and steady stream of air that she controls. Too fast and the glass might pop or collapse on itself. Too slow and it might warp. It’s the same with the fireball. You need to be able to control your breath before you can control its size. Once you can control this,” he taps Izuna on the chest, “you can control precisely how big you make it or even how small.”

“Oh,” he murmurs.

The glass blower finishes blowing into the pipe and pulling tools close, she cuts the glass from the pipe, setting it into a smaller fire to keep it warm while she changes out her tool and sets the pipe aside. Spying them in the doorway, she bows, “Madara-sama, Izuna-sama,” she murmurs and her voice husky and deep.

“It’s always a pleasure to see you at work, Kikyo-san,” Madara says with a nod back to her. Grabbing Izuna by the arm, he drags his brother away from the building and back towards the training grounds. He shoves him towards a long stone bench, “Sit in a meditative position,” he orders and Izuna complies, Madara settling next to him. “Follow my lead. Breathe in,” he draws in long draught of air, Izuna mimicking. “And breath out,” he says, slow and steady, holding the exhale for much longer than Izuna. “Again.”

The next ten minutes are silent as Izuna quickly learns the timing of his brother’s breathing and slowly, he falls into it. He doesn’t realize Madara has stopped and is watching him until he hears a pleased hum. “Good, now, let’s try it again.”

Standing, he falls into his stance. “Don’t worry about speed. That will come with practice. For now, just focus on your breathing and keeping the stream steady,” Madara tells him and he nods.

Taking a few slow breaths to fall into the rhythm, he begins the seals, keeping with the pattern. As the last seal finishes, he feels the chakra building in his lungs as he draws in a deep lung full of air and on the exhale, lets the air out slowly, steadily, fire sparking at his lips and the explosion of fire catches him off guard, so unexpected after his earlier attempts that his breath catches in his throat and he loses his control of his air and chakra, the fireball flickering out as he coughs to clear his throat.

He turns wide eyes to his brother, “Congratulations, you can use the Great Fireball,” Madara says with a big grin. Then his smile takes on a wicked twist, “You’re officially an Uchiha.”

“I’ve always been an Uchiha,” Izuna snaps, flustered.

“Well, there were talks of selling you if you couldn’t do it. I’m sure we could get a little money for such a scrawny shinobi,” he replies archly, waving his hand like it’s obvious.

“No way father would ever sell me,” Izuna cries and rushes up to tackle Madara. Madara allows it, falling over and then wrestling his brother underneath him with a laugh before attacking with tickling fingers. Izuna lets out a shriek of laughter, struggling to get free. “No, enough,” he wheezes between laughs, Madara laughing with him.

Finally, he relents, pulling Izuna up and into his arms for a hug, “We should tell father and the others,” he says to the wheezing child.

“They’re back?” he asks.

“Just got back an hour ago,” he nods. “Come on, we can celebrate tonight with all of us home.” He helps Izuna up and then turns, black eyes sparking with mirth, “Last one there has to do the other’s chores,” and then takes off, Izuna yelling after him and following hard on his heels. If Madara lets him win…well, what else are big brothers for?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this, it's a few years before Madara meets Hashirama and the three other brothers are still alive. In my head, I think of Madara as the middle child and Izuna as the baby of the family, with two brothers older than Madara and one between him and Izuna. Which is why he's so desperate to protect Izuna because not only is he his last brother, he's the baby of the family and he practically helped raise him (and the second youngest) and train them while his older brothers were on the battle field with Tajima.
> 
> Also head canon is that the Uchiha aren't just smiths, like most people portray them, but glass blowers as well and anything else involving fire because they use fire in everything. Even food wise, they are masters at smoking food because of their fire affenity.


	4. Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He learns very quickly that every action, does not have an equal and opposite consequence.
> 
> Also, TW: for child abuse/whipping, just to warn anyone that might not like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the prequal to the first chapter Lessons.

The slap echoes through the trees and leaves his ears ringing and his cheek aching from the force of the blow. His heart beats so loudly, his brothers must surely hear it. He sees red, spitting out words that barely register in his mind, words that he’s bottled up for so long and kept so close to his chest.

“This world of shinobi is wrong!” he finishes, staring at their father, watching the way Butsuma’s face is steadily reddening, fury sparking in his eyes.

Then suddenly, Butsuma’s face grows cold, smooth as stone and his heart beats faster, waiting for the strike to come again, knows his father will strike him for speaking so out of turn. He glares, willing to take the hit if it means he will be heard.

Butsuma steps closer, shadow seeming to grow as the sun dips behind him through the trees. “You disrespect Kawarama; you disrespect all who came before us, all who gave their lives so our clan might flourish. You are a child shouting for attention. If you wish to act like a child, then I will teach you a lesson as only a father can teach his children,” Butsuma says lowly, voice like steel. “Actions have consequences.”

Abruptly, he turns, hand snaking out to grip Tobirama harshly by his arm and starts pulling him behind him, his brother trying to keep pace with his father’s longer stride.

“What?” Hashirama whispers, “Wait, stop,” he calls, Itama following behind as they race after the man, Tobirama’s red eyes wide in shock and fear, not sure where this is going.

Butsuma drags him towards the center of the Senju Compound, those of their clan that are still out stepping aside, watching their clan head and his sons with worried expressions but not trying to stop him. “Father, stop!” he tries again, reaching for Tobirama’s other arm to try and pull him free but his father’s grip is like a steel manacle.

“No, he didn’t do anything!” he tries, pleads. Butsuma turns towards a series of posts at various heights and Hashirama pales, realizing what his father intends to do, staring in horror as he pulls his little brother harshly forward, yanking first one pale wrist up and then another, clamping them into the manacles that hang there until the boy can barely keep his feet on the ground unless he stretches out, arms taut above him. His hands reach out and tears at clothe, ripping the shirt Tobirama wears, exposing his back.

“Father, please,” he begs now, shaking as Butsuma reaches for one of the whips that are stored there, uncoiling the thick leather with practiced hands. “Please, this is my fault.”

Butsuma turns back, dark eyes hard as steel, face void of any emotions. “Remember this moment closely,” Butsuma says evenly, as if imparting an important bit of information, “A lesson isn’t learned unless there are consequences.”

“No!” he cries as the first crack snaps out and Tobirama jerks and can’t turn away from the blow, feet scrabbling against the ground, unable to find any purchase. The sharp gasp is forced from his throat before he clamps his jaw tight as the next one falls and the next, tears flowing from his eyes but no sounds emerging as he jerks with each blow.

“No! No more,” Hashirama begs, on his hands and knees at his father’s feet, prostrate before him, face pale and tear streaked.

The whip cracks ten times before falling silent. Hashirama and Itama’s ragged breathing are the only sounds breaking the silence. Tobirama hangs limply by his wrists, still and silent as blood spills from the lash marks, dripping to the ground beneath him.

Slowly, methodically, Butsuma winds the whip back and places it where he pulled it from. He doesn’t look to any of his sons, staring ahead. “Your actions have consequences but you will not always be the one to pay the price. Remember this for the next time you speak of things you do not understand.”

Without a backward glance, he marches away, disappearing inside the main house. Hashirama scrambles up to his feet, sobbing, “Tobirama! Tobi, I’m sorry,” he cries, hands shaking as he struggles to undo the manacles, Itama helping as best he can, silent tears slipping down his face as he carefully lifts his older brother, helping to take some of his weight off of his wrists so Hashirama can unclasp the metal wrapped around them.

The last manacle let’s go and his brother slumps, Itama barely able to hold him, trying to avoid the open wounds on his back. “I’m sorry,” Hashirama is still saying, franticly running shaking hands over his brother’s face, so much paler than it normally is, the veins standing out starkly. “I’m sorry,” he moans to his unresponsive brother, the boy unconscious.

“He needs a healer,” Itama whispers, speaking for the first time since this whole incident began. “Hashirama, he needs a healer,” Itama says louder over Hashirama’s rambling apologies.

Hashirama, pale and shaking, nods unsteadily, reaching out to take one of Tobirama’s arms over his shoulder, Itama taking the other as they support his weight across the compound towards the healer’s hall.

Junka, one of the older healers that spends most of her time there, pales when she see Tobirama but holds her tongue, motioning for them to lay him on his stomach on one of the beds there before ordering them about, tending to the lashes. When the last bit of bandage is tied off, she steps away, leaving the brothers to watch over him, telling them to come find her if he starts to show signs of fever.

Hashirama runs shaky fingers over soft white hair as Itama clutches at a limp hand. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he mumbles over and over, tears leaving spots on the bedding as he cries for his brother.

~*~

Butsuma’s rage as they enter the Senju Compound is palpable, making his heart race. Tobirama is behind him, keeping his head down. “Follow,” Butsuma snaps as they step through the gates and they follow.

His heart beats heavily in his chest as he trails behind Butsuma, each beat growing louder and louder as they follow him towards the center of the compound and he feels his mouth growing dry, knowing what is coming.

Butsuma stops a few feet from the familiar posts and doesn’t turn to face them, speaking slowly, evenly, “You warned him.”

“Father, I-,” Hashirama tries.

“You chose that boy over your own flesh and blood, your own clan. You are a disgrace,” his words rumble out and each one makes him flinch. “You are my heir and one day, you will lead the Senju to victory, but not before you learn the lessons I must teach you.”

He turns to face them, expression cold and says simple, “Tobirama,” and the paler boy flinches but nods, starting to undo the ties to his armor with shaking fingers.

“Father, no, I should be punished, not him. I failed the mission, please, don’t punish him,” he begs, stepping up and holding his wrists out, offering.

Butsuma ignores him, watching as the last of Tobirama’s armor clatters to the ground, the boy jerkily pulling his top off and lets it fall to the ground as well. Hashirama’s eyes unerringly turn to the scars that mark his brother’s back from before, a lesson he can never forget.

Butsuma jerks his chin and Tobirama walks slowly to the post, lifting his arms for his father to restrain, though he’s grown some since last time and is able to stand without struggling. “Father, please,” he begs, rushing up to tug at his arm and is knocked back by a hard fist, sending him sprawling. “You represent the Senju Clan,” he snarls, tightening one manacle. “Everything you do, everything you say, reflects back on us, on our ancestors,” the second is tightened.

He moves to pull out the whip, unrolling it with a crack that has Tobirama jumping before he forces himself to be still. “There will come a time when you will give an order and people will die by your word. There will come a time, when you will act and those of the clan will suffer the consequences in your stead. This is a lesson all who bare the mantle of Clan Head must learn,” he pauses and looks to Hashirama, “And a lesson isn’t learned unless there are consequences.”

“No!” he yells as the whip cracks, watching the line appear across his brother’s back, vision blurring with tears as he hears his brother’s sharp breath of pain. “Please!”

Crack!

“Father, don’t!” he sobs, fingers clawing at the dirt beneath his knees, unable to look away.

Five…ten…fifteen strikes, each echoing in his head and through the compound, marking his brother with his mistakes. Tobirama hangs by his wrists, unable to support his weight. Slowly, Butsuma winds the whip in silence as Hashirama pulls in shuddering breaths. “One day, you will learn this lesson. I only hope you will learn it sooner, rather than later,” he says with a hard look at his eldest son before stowing the whip and walking away.

“No, no, no, no, Tobirama, I’m sorry,” he murmurs, rushing up, putting an arm around his brother’s hips to help support him as he reaches up to undo the manacles. “I never meant for this to happen,” he cries, getting first one, than the other undone, until Tobirama slumps into him, breathing shakily, each breath ragged and strained with pain.

“Come on,” Hashirama says, pulling an arm over his shoulders and helps his stumbling brother through the compound towards the healer’s hall. Junka pales at the sight but motions him forward towards an empty bed without a word.

Gently, he lowers his brother to the bed and steps back, grabbing what he’s instructed to grab as Junka cleans Tobirama’s back. Finally, she finishes and leaves him with his brother. Hashirama tumbles to the ground, kneeling beside the head of the bed. With shaky hands, he runs gentle fingers through his brother’s hair.

“Never again,” he vows, voice hard. “I promise, never again,” he says, looking into pain filled red eyes. Tobirama never says a word, simply turns his face away, unwilling to believe his vow and his heart breaks anew. “I promise,” he murmurs, fresh tears streaking his checks, sobs hitching in his throat, carving this lesson into his heart.

~*~

“You didn’t kill him,” Butsuma growls out, staring at Hashirama as they stand before the main house. Most of those that fought with them have left; either to be treated for injuries or to make themselves scarce in the face of Butsuma’s wrath. Only Tobirama and Touka remain, watching the clash of wills unfold.

Hashirama doesn’t say anything, keeping his mouth clamped tight, recalling his first lesson from his father. “You had an opening, you could have ended Tajima’s heir and you failed to follow through. You are still attached to that boy, despite all of our clan members he has killed.”

“When will you finally learn,” Butsuma says evenly. His heart speeds up, knowing that tone in his father’s voice. “How many times must others pay the price for your actions before you start acting like you should?” he asks.

“Father, please,” Hashirama begs, softly, fearfully.

“How many more times can you fail me so?” he asks.

“Don’t, please,” he begs, stepping between Tobirama and Butsuma. “This was my mistake and I must bear the punishment,” he reasons.

“Consequences don’t work like that,” Butsuma says, looking past him. “Tobirama,” he orders quietly and Hashirama turns, seeing his brother’s face go quiet, still, expression like ice as he nods in understanding.

“No!” Hashirama screams, rage igniting in his chest. The wood and trees around them groan ominously, creaking as the leaves overhead shiver in a wind none of them feel. “You will not touch him,” he yells, eyes wide, frantic to stop this.

“You do not command me, boy,” Butsuma says with a sneer and moves to step around Hashirama.

Something snaps in him, the last shred of love, of respect, of duty he feels for his father, the man who raised him, trained him. Rage burns through his veins and he sees red. “You will not touch him!” he bellows and the ground rocks beneath their feet, earth shifting and shivering before roots shoot up from the ground, wrapping around Butsuma.

Butsuma snarls at him, ensnared by the tightening roots, “Release me now!” he orders.

“Not until you swear you will never touch him again,” Hashirama growls out, killing intent rising with each word, moving to put himself between his brother and his Clan Head.

Butsuma sneers, “He is mine, my tool. Mine to do whatever I will to him, be it as a sword to place at my enemy’s throats, or a means to teach you a lesson.”

“Swear it!” Hashirama bellows and the roots tighten even more, Butsuma chocking a little.

“You don’t have the guts to do this,” he sneers, words dripping with rage. “I will skin the flesh from his back for this act,” he hisses, straining against the bindings.

Hashirama’s ears ring at his words, blood running cold, “No, you won’t,” he whispers and his fingers twitch. Long, thin spines spike along the roots, stabbing into every inch of flesh, driving even through his armor, digging deep, hitting vulnerable flesh until blood begins to flow freely. “You will never touch him again,” he whispers as Butsuma chokes on his own blood and his hand clenches into a fist and the roots snap tight, crushing their captive with a sickening wet crunch.

The world is silent around them, no one daring to move as slowly, inch by inch, the roots unwind, dropping the pulverized remains of Butsuma to the earthen floor of the compound. Hashirama turns away shakily, eyes wide and sees his brother staring at him with wide red eyes, his mask shattered in the face of his brother’s actions.

Hashirama steps closer and Tobirama blinks, looking into his brother’s gaze, “Never again,” he vows and the whipping posts explode into motion, limbs and roots sprouting from the once dead wood, growing faster than nature intended before three large trees remain where they once stood.

Something falls near them and they look to see the whip Butsuma favored lying half unraveled on the ground. A spark of chakra and then flames leap for the leather, catching and burning quickly. They look up to see Touka stepping up to them, eyes fierce and blood red lips pulled into a mockery of a smile, “Never again,” she agrees.

He reaches out shaky hands for his brother and Tobirama allows it, allows Hashirama to pull him close, to hold on tightly as the tremors begin to set in, the realization of what he has just done sinking home. He clings to Tobirama, reminding himself why he acted and carves this lesson into his heart as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even though I knew how this fic would go, it still managed to take me by surprise a little by some of the ways it twisted out of my control. Poor Tobi and Hashi. They both need a hug right now.
> 
> Please don't hate me. I swear, my next ficlet that has either of them in it will be nothing but goodness and fluffy feelings. :)


	5. Duty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She does it for her island, for her people, for her family...for herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a Mito fic, because I love a good Mito fic and who doesn't love the awesome redhead. It's loosely connected to the others but can also stand alone. :)

She is born in red: the blood of the womb coating her, a face reddened by her cries and a head full of crimson locks. She is the first daughter of Uzumaki Takuen, Uzushio’s prince and leader. She is his third child, with two brothers born before her but even so, she is beloved amongst her people.

She loves her mother and her father, she loves her siblings and her people, and most of all she loves her hair. It is proof, undeniably, of the Uzumaki blood that runs through her veins, the color of the sun rising over the sea. The sea flows through her veins, the tide and waves an echo of her beating heart. The smell of the sea lingers in her clothe and her hair and it comforts her as nothing else ever has.

She is raised to put her people first. She is the daughter of Uzushio’s prince. She has a duty, not just to her father, but to her island, her people before anything else. She takes this to heart, carves it into every action she does. She studies, learns, devouring all she can in her drive to better help her people because she wants to and because she should.

She knows duty, her duty and what it will one day bring her. She has been raised to expect it all her life. She knows that she will one day leave her island and it will never be home again, not like it has been for all of her life. One day, she will leave the pulse of the sea and the sting of sea spray behind and it will be for duty. She doesn’t want to, but she will do it anyways, to ensure her people have the protection they deserve.

And so she hordes what little time she has left as word reaches her father of the persistent wars that continue to plague the Fire Country’s clans. Their eyes look north to Lightning, seeing the civil unrest there and then to the east towards Water, where the hungry eyes of the clans there look to their small island, alone in the sea, protected by their whirlpools and the fuinjutsus. For years, they have remained safe in their isolation, never taking a side in any of the fighting, but at the same time, they have cut themselves off from any sort of aid should one of the larger countries decide to take what they will not give.

An offer comes eventually, as she expected it might after hearing of the heavy fighting between Fire’s two largest clans: the Uchiha and the Senju, distant cousins of the Uzumaki. An offer of alliance is given. A trade of their fuuinjutsu and shinobi for the rich merchant trade routes that have for generations kept the Senju wealthy, despite the war and their clan’s small size compared to other clans. An offer of protection is given as well, should they ever fall under attack and it is a tempting deal. With a foot hold in Fire, they could even begin negotiations with the Fire Daimyo himself to open better deals there as well.

She watches her father’s face as he reads over the offer, their elders gathered around them. Her mother and her brothers seem content to wait for his answer but she knows, can see it in the faint frown between his brows, the tension in his frame. When his eyes lift from the scroll, they unerringly turn to her and she understands what will happen, the price for such a deal and she bows her head in acceptance.

There was never any chance of escaping her duty, not when the sea thrums through her veins and the sunrise burns in her hair. She is an Uzumaki and her people must always come first.

~*~

She arrives as spring unfurls across the vast forests of Fire Country. It’s been days since she last could smell the scent of the sea on the wind and only the engrained smell in her blankets has helped her sleep at night as they traveled the week long journey to the Senju lands and their compound at its heart.

Her father is a shrewd man, not prone to bouts of folly and he will not sacrifice his only daughter to the tides of war that currently embattle the Senju. Instead, a compromise is struck between Uzumaki Takuen and Senju Butsuma. He will entrust Mito to the Senju for six months, time enough to allow her to come to know her distant cousins and possible husband, Hashirama. Time enough to see if the Senju can keep her safe, even while in war and once the time is up, she will return and give her father the final decision.

It is a lot of responsibility for one person. On one hand, she must do right by her people and this alliance would bring much needed trade and wealth to their island that it hasn’t seen much of in recent decades. On the other hand, she is her father’s daughter, and her safety is paramount to him. He will not abandon her to be slaughtered by the Senju’s enemies, just for trade. If the Senju can’t even defend against their enemies, how would they ever be able to aid Uzushio if it is in need?

And so, with this difficult decision tucked away in her heart, she arrives upon the Senju Compound, her guard of ten Uzushio shinobi behind her and greets her possible future family. They’re arrayed across the path before the main gates. The main family, she immediately recognizes from the descriptions provided by their ambassador.

The hard, craggy face of Butsuma is immediately recognized, the man eyeing her up and down and she straightens her spine, her expression serene before his scrutiny. She will not be cowed by this man. He wanted this alliance, not her. If he wants to find fault in her, she could care less, so long as he abides by the agreement. She’s not marrying him, thankfully.

Her gaze sweeps left and she frowns, faintly at the wide gap between what she realizes is her possible husband and his father. She has been raised the daughter of a prince, raised to the ways of diplomacy, taught to read a room, to read a person, to read what isn’t spoken and she sees so much in that gap. A glance behind them shows the rift continues in a divide not just between the main family, but within the clan as well. It is something to ponder for later.

Her gaze sweeps to Senju Hashirama and her breath stills in her breast because here is something unexpected. A face sculpted into a more classical handsomeness. His long hair is a testament of his strength and ability, not just as Clan Heir but as a shinobi in battle. But what holds her is his gaze. His eyes are kind. So unlike his father, she sees curiosity, and mirth and a wealth of other emotions, kept mostly hidden away behind a large grin that she immediately recognizes as not his real smile.

She forces herself to keep looking left and meets with a start, the sharp red eyes of Senju Tobirama. She had noted their ambassador’s words on his looks and coloring but for some reason, she never connected it to albinism. She remembers Butsuma’s inspection of her and wonders at their relationship from a man who obviously despises any signs of weakness or flaws. She sees sharp intelligence in his eyes though; a thirst for knowledge that might even match her own and hopes she can talk to him about her own projects.

The last of the family is standing to the left of Tobirama: a woman, a cousin by way of Butsuma’s younger sister, according to their ambassador. Dark hair held back by a severe looking top knot, a sharp hawk like gaze and a flash of color across her mouth, red as blood that quirks into a sharp grin under her scrutiny. She holds herself like a warrior, naginata held in an easy grip, but there’s tension in her frame, an awareness that shows nothing will get past her.

Behind them, most of the clan stands as well. An array of earth tones so different from the bright reds, blondes and the even stranger colors that makes up her island. It is a reminder that she is not home on her island anymore. She stands out like a flame amongst the trees. What she assumes are the elders of the clan, are clumped in a group behind Butsuma, wearing scrutinizing looks as they take her in as well.

Taking a step forward, she bows low, “You honor us with such a greeting,” she says lowly but clearly to those gathered. “My father, Prince Takuen, sends his greetings, Butsuma-sama, as well as gifts,” she adds, standing and motioning towards one of her guard who comes forward baring a large storage scroll.

Butsuma steps forward, face still void of anything and bows back, “We are honored to have you, Mito-sama and your guards. We hope your stay here will be comfortable,” he murmurs and she sees the faint twist in his mouth as he says this, like he bit into something sour.

“Thank you,” she murmurs demurely.

“If you will come this way, we will show you to where you will be living for your time amongst us,” he says and she nods, following behind him.

~*~

The six months flows by faster than she expects and through the tension of war hangs heavy over the compound, it never truly breaches the walls, the Uchiha and what other enemies the Senju face, kept well at bay.

She gets to know Hashirama over this time and finds him a uniquely gentle soul who longs more for peace than war. His mind is sharp, though he likes to play the fool, more prone to smiles that he has weaponized over his nineteen years of life, than frowns. He is gentle with her, never asking for anything she isn’t willing to offer, be it her time, her company or a few times, a kiss upon her hand as mischievous brown eyes look up at her under his lashes. She realizes towards the end of her stay, that she could grow to love this man and it settles in her heart like a small candle glow, a boon where she expected none.

Tobirama is just as fiercely intelligent as she expected. His mind is sharp, but so is everything about him. He is a man that has been honed to an edge by life, home and war. She watches the way he holds himself apart from most of the clan, speaking with them only when he needs to, hiding his heart away from all but his brother and his cousin. She rarely sees him interact with Butsuma unless he needs to. The only exception he makes is for the children of the clan. The first time she sees him smile, a true smile, is as he teaches one of the children, listening to their excited words and answering with the patience she has seen few teachers possess. Her heart feels heavy for this man, who loves his clan so fiercely, with such devotion and yet, he is treated often like a ghost, rarely seen and even more rarely missed. Would he disappear like mist before the sun where it not for Hashirama, Touka and the children he surrounds himself with?

Touka reminds her of her old teacher Hakina, a woman of such solid and steady strength that few could match her. She was Mito’s oldest teacher and taught her how to fight, how to turn her body into a beautiful weapon and to not be afraid to show it. _You are beautiful and that in itself can be a weapon and a woman must use every weapon she can in a world run by men._ She has lived by those words all her life. Touka seems to have learned that advice in her own time fighting. She doesn’t hide her femininity, the flash of red on her lips a statement and a threat: she is a woman and she will not hesitate to drink the blood of her enemies. Needless to say, they strike up a quick friendship, often spending early mornings training together, keeping their skills sharp.

She rarely sees Butsuma and even more rarely, interacts with him. He is a hard, uncompromising man, more prone to harsh words and orders than anything else. He is a product of his time, a man who has lived his whole life in war. A man who has had to cut everything soft about him away himself, least it be cut by an enemy. And while this might excuse some of his actions, it does not wholly absolve him. She sees it in the way he treats his sons, how he demands more and more of them, never seeing that they would give so much more, if only he might treat them as his sons instead of his soldiers. Sees the suspicious he bears for Hashirama, the contempt he bares for Tobirama. Sees how he surrounds himself with the Elders, like him in so many ways and refuses to listen to his sons. He is a man of his time and it will be the death of him.

She doesn’t meet the last of the Senju family until three months into her stay. The compound is nearly silent as night begins to settle over the world. She goes looking for Hashirama and finds him and the others gathered in the clan’s cemetery, the forest of headstones evidence of how much the clan has paid in flesh and blood for their war. They’re gathered near a smaller section, the three of them silent as incense smoke wafts up. There she meets the last three members of the Senju. They tell her stories of them, of little Kawarama who wanted to make his clan proud and was killed so far from home. Of kind Itama, always patching them up after each battle, who was hunted like prey before a pack of wolves. Of Lady Umi who gave her life for her family and who few rarely spoke of for fear of Butsuma’s wrath. She prays with them and mourns the lost chance of meeting them. She decides then, amongst grief and incense smoke, with the chirp of crickets and the slow reveal of stars overhead. She knows what she will say to her father when she returns but for now, she allows herself to be drawn into their stories.

~*~

She leaves as the forest begins to change its colors, slowly catching fire as summer comes to an end and for the first time, she no longer feels like she stands out. She is no longer a flame amongst the trees. Now she is the heart of the flame in this brightly burning forest. The clan gathers again to bid her farewell and she bows to them, her guards with her and as one, they turn to leave. She has not told them her decision and they do not ask.

Each day brings her closer to home, to the sea and she feels the thrum of it in her soul. She is a child of the sea, of the ocean winds and the burning sunrise. She is Uzumaki Mito and Uzushio is her home, but a piece of her was left amongst the trees and she knows she will go back and never mourn the loss of the sea because she knows the sea will always remain within her, like the tide and the waves, her pulse steady, strong and unending.

Word is sent of their acceptance and her family prepares for her true departure the next year. Nearly six months later, word arrives as the tail end of the winter storms lash their island, winter holding on as long as it can before spring once more takes its place. Her father reads the scroll and informs her of Butsuma’s passing and Hashirama’s ascension as Clan Head. There is an offer from Hashirama to cancel the alliance between them as it was created between Takuen and Butsuma, an offer for Mito to not have to do her duty. She hesitates because this is her home and she does not want to leave, but then she remembers that piece of her that she left amongst the trees and she knows.

An extra few months are taken to redraw up the agreements, fine tuning them for the new clan head and obtaining his seal and signature. Spring is nearly turned to summer, when she leaves her home for the last time. From now on, it will never be home. That word belongs to a place amongst the trees. Instead, Uzushio will be her people’s home, her family’s home and a place she thinks of fondly and will infrequently visit when she can.

Her arrival is met with less fanfare this time around, only the elders and the main family waiting for her as she is escorted to the gates. She looks to Hashirama first and sees new shadows in her betrothed’s eyes, a hidden guilt and shame. But, there is no rift between them, a family united before her and it is a marked change from before. There is still a wedding to be planned, a home to settle into but for now, she is simply glad to be back, for good this time.

Later, long after they have married, years into their partnership, he confesses to her, whispered into the darkness of their room. He holds her like a man drowning and only she can save him as he cries the truth into her chest, of what really happened, of the dark truth hidden by the trees. Of Butsuma’s dark reign over his family and Hashirama’s decision to finally end it, to save what family he has left. She holds him, whispering soothing words as she runs gentle fingers through his hair and mourns for the man who was forced to destroy his own heart to save his family. Of the man who chose family over duty because he couldn’t bear the thought of anything else. And as he shakes apart, she helps piece him back together, a piece at a time and loves him all the more for his trust.

She left because of duty.

She stayed because of love.


	6. Crucible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He is born the third son of Uchiha Tajima and the first son of Uchiha Tsubomi. He is red faced and loud and he is unwanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this one went darker than expected. Apparently we can't have anything nice in the Warring Clans Era. :/
> 
> TW: implied/referenced rape, forced marriage, forced pregnancy and implied/referenced suicide.
> 
> You have been warned.

He is born the third son of Uchiha Tajima and the first son of Uchiha Tsubomi. He is red faced and loud and he is unwanted. He doesn’t understand this at first, why his father turns from him with a frown, why the elders of the clan murmur behind their hands as he clings to his mother as she holds him. Why his mother sometimes refuses to touch him some days, unable to look at him without her eyes tearing up.

He doesn’t understand what they mean when they say the word _concubine…bastard_ , or why Lady Natsu glares at him whenever she comes to speak with his mother. All he understands is his mother and her love and that is all that matters.

He’s three the first time he meets his brothers. It’s a sad day, the clan in mourning as they hold the funeral for Lady Natsu, rain falling softly, turning the ground to mud quickly. His mother holds his hand as they walk; reminding him to stay quiet and he had nodded fiercely, not wanting to upset his mother.

The priestesses of Amaterasu speak clearly, praying for the clan, for Uchiha Natsu and the other Uchiha who fell with her. His heart feels heavy at the way some of the clan is openly crying. He doesn’t like when mother cries, always wants to cheer here up.

Later, he’s sitting patiently while mother cleans his hands and feet of the mud that had collected on his skin when there’s a knock at their door. His mother goes and opens it, surprise on her face when she sees father outside.

She lets him in with a bow, father saying something about moving to the main house, that she will be taking her place as his new wife now that Lady Natsu has passed. He’s excited at the thought of the main house. He’s never been inside, only seen it as they passed. He doesn’t understand why mother looks shocked and a little pale. Can’t see the way her lips tremble and the fear that is hidden in her eyes.

“Mama,” he says softly, pulling at her sleeve and with a watery smile, she bends down.

“Madara, do you want to see your brothers?” she asks softly and he nods eagerly, never even knowing he had brothers. He’s always wanted brothers. He even asked once but mother got sad and he didn’t bring it up again.

He’d followed them to the main house, his mother holding him tight despite his complaints, not noticing the way she trembled and for the first time, saw the main house from the inside, admiring how much nicer it is than their house.

He meets his brothers there. Kemuru, Tajima’s first born and already eight years old, is tall, certainly taller than he is. He frowns at him, then turns to glare at Tajima, saying something heated beneath his breath and Tajima reacts, slapping Kemuru’s face with a snarl and a harsh _“Mind your place,”_ before Kemuru storms to the other side of the room, away from him and he doesn’t understand.

Tetsuo, Tajima’s second son and six years old, watches this silently, eyes flicking between his father and brother and Madara still being held by mother. Tajima makes a jerking motion with his hand and Tetsuo nods, stepping forward, “Hello Madara. It’s nice to meet you,” he murmurs, eyes sad but his smile is genuine and Madara smiles, but feeling suddenly shy in this strange atmosphere and simply waves silently.

Father comes forward, something in his hands and motions for mother to put him down. He holds out a haori, just his size and when he touches it, it’s so soft it feels like water. The dark fabric shines in the light and stitched on the back is the Uchiha uchiwa, the colors so bright and vibrant he feels like he could grab it off the fabric and wield it. “You are my son,” he says slowly, eyes never leaving mother’s eyes as he drapes the fabric over his thin shoulders and he feels a swell of pride at those words. He doesn’t see fear there, the way she holds herself as she nods helplessly at what is left unsaid.

~*~

He’s learns of his mother’s pregnancy a few months later. He’s overjoyed to finally be a big brother, no longer the baby of the family. He hugs her gently when she tells him, smiling so happily at the news. It’s not long after that, that he starts to begin his training, learning beside his brothers and cousins, stumbling through his first attempts to wield a kunai and struggles to understand and mold his chakra, little fingers so clumsy over the seals they teach him.

It’s only a few month after his fourth birthday when Asahi is born, and the clan celebrates, though he’s warned to keep quiet around mother, that she’s really tired. He sneaks in when no one is looking, getting his first look at his little brother and gently pets his tiny head where he lies in his mother’s arms. She’s asleep, face so pale and dark smudges under her eyes. She looks fragile when she’s always been so strong in his eyes.

When he asks father about it later, the man scoffs, saying she’ll be fine in a few days and to not worry about it. Reassured, he nods and easily falls back into training while filling his free time with visiting mother and Asahi whenever he’s allowed, wanting to be a good older brother.

He tells her how much he loves his baby brother, how excited he is and wonders if she’ll have another one. He doesn’t see the fear in her eyes, or the smirk on father’s face as he answers back maybe she might have another. He’s so excited at the news.

~*~

He’s nearly five when he hears the news of his mother’s second pregnancy. He’s progressing far in his training, is just as strong as many of his older cousins and can even do their clan’s Great Fireball, much to father’s delight. He likes learning to fight, feeling his body get stronger each day as he trains. It sucks when Kemuru and Tetsuo go off with father to fight and he stays behind but he knows that soon, he’ll be fighting alongside them.

Izuna is born in early spring. He comes early and is so small. Some of the healers and elders fear he won’t make it. Madara fears he will lose his baby brother before he even has the chance to live. He spends more and more time outside of training with his mother, helping her as best he can, making sure his baby brother will survive, will get to live!

Izuna makes it though, growing bigger and bigger each day, lungs crying loudly, showing his true strength. He hold his baby brother softly, showing Asahi, two now, how to hold his baby brother. He can’t help the warmth in his chest at the thought of how much family he has. He hopes one day he can have just as much family too.

~*~

Mother never really gets better after Izuna’s birth. She always seems pale, shaky, smudges under her eyes and he worries, asking if she’s okay, if he can do anything to help. She always smiles, running weak fingers through his unruly mop of hair and says she’s fine, that he should look after his brothers.

He doesn’t question it, just nodding his head fiercely and promising he will protect them with everything he can. Her smile is sad and he holds her hand as she weeps softly, unsure why she’s sad but hating it all the same.

He’s eight when he finds her. She’s still asleep in bed, even so late in the morning. She never sleeps in, and he shakes her, saying she should get up, it’s already passed breakfast time. She doesn’t though, eye never opening and when he reaches out shakily to touch her hand, it’s ice cold when it used to be so warm, always like fire in his tiny hands. He doesn’t notice the empty cup beside her bed, or the small, empty paper packet next to it.

He runs for father as fast as he can, crying.

He learns the burning pain of grief and loss that day, of what it means when someone dies, with the knowledge that he’ll never see them, never talk to them again. He weeps at the funeral, holding little Izuna, two, in his arms while Asahi, now four, clings to his hands. Father and Kemuru and Tetsuo stand with him, faces solemn and distant as the priestess perform the rituals.

He remembers his promise to mother, to protect his brothers and he embraces it. He doesn’t want to feel this tearing pain ever again. He clings to his little brothers tighter, hoping he can keep it.

~*~

His days fill up as the war continues. With father and his brothers more often than not away, either fighting or on missions for the clan, it falls to him to look after his brothers. He helps them train, teaches them to walk and run, to fall and tumble. Teaches how to punch something, how to take a hit and move with it.

He marks the passage of time with funerals more often than anything else, cousins and other members of the clan going out to fight and coming back dead. It seems to be a never ending cycle of fighting and dying and he hates it.

He no longer wants to go fight in the war, though father has been making mention of him joining them soon, now that he’s old enough. He dreads the day when he’ll have to watch Asahi and Izuna go to war next.

He kills his first enemy at nine.

It’s an accident, more than anything. It’s a mission to deliver a coded message to one of their allies. He’d felt proud that they trusted such an important task to him, though he still felt the cold crawl of fear down his spine at the thought of running into an enemy, of having to fight.

He reminds Asahi and Izuna to keep up their training, that he should be back in a couple days but he better not hear of them slacking or else he’ll tickle them as punishment. They’d giggled, hugging him tightly and he sighed, reveling in the feel of his brothers, so close at hand.

The trip there is nerve-wracking but uneventful as he delivers the message and accepts a return one. He doesn’t expect to run into a patrol of shinobi, not able to see their clan symbol. He hides, hoping they’ll pass him by in his little cave under a tree’s roots.

They break apart, having heard something, spreading out. One stumbles near his hiding spot, kunai clutched in his hand. It’s a boy, maybe Tetsuo’s age. His eyes go wide, about to call out and Madara reacts, jumping up to shush him, to let him be but he forgets the kunai in his hand, doesn’t realize what’s happened until he feels a hot, burning warmth over his hand and looks down to see his kunai in the boy’s throat, his eyes so wide in surprise.

“I’m sorry,” he cries softly, slowly lowering him down, eyes burning and he runs. He runs hard and fast away from the boy he just killed, from the guilt and fear and relief because he’s not dead, won’t leave his baby brothers undefended and feels horrible that he’s relieved after killing someone’s child, someone else’s brother.

He vomits when he reaches the Naka. Huge shuddering gasps, crying and shaking as it finally sinks in just what he’s done, now that the shock has worn off. Later, when he’s calm and numb, he’ll wash his hands and kunai, wipe his mouth and make his way for home.

That night, he holds his brothers tighter than ever and knows that one day he’ll lose them and there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

~*~

He’s eleven, nearly twelve really, only a few months away from it, when the worst comes to happen. Father had finally relented to let him fight with his brothers the year before, though he’s been kept to rear, away from the worst. Mainly, he helps protect the healers as they go out and bring wounded back. He likes this, likes protecting his clan.

He doesn’t hear the news until after it’s already too late. The healers bring him in even as his life fades away. Kemuru fights them the whole time, still caught up in his bloodlust, still needing to fight even as he grows weaker and weaker, red eyes wide and frenzied, tomoe spinning wildly. His brother dies chocking on his own blood and fighting to get back to the frontline, back to father and Tetsuo.

The second blow comes months later, weeks after Asahi’s birthday where they celebrated as a family, even with the empty place Kemuru left. They learn of the ambush too late, no one able to reach him in time. Madara wants to scream when Asahi is brought home, only weeks after his eighth birthday, throat slit and body too small in his armor and too young to be a casualty of war. His rage burns bright that day, hating the Senju child hunters that took his little brother away from him.

Father and Tetsuo go on a warpath after that, throwing themselves into every battle and skirmish against the Senju. They go out clean and return soaked in blood, eyes whirling red and he thinks this is worse, hating that his brother and father have been reduced to this mindless killing.

Five months after Asahi’s death, Tetsuo falls. Madara will always remember the way he grinned, blood coating his teeth as he took down the man responsible to Asahi’s death. How he howled with triumph, even as he fell to his knees, guts spilling across the earth.

That night, father returned home hollow, empty of anything, even the rage and bloodlust from before. Madara clings to Izuna all night, weeping silently. He won’t…he can’t let them touch Izuna. He’s all he has left, the only bit of sanity to cling to. He knows, like he knows the sun will rise in the east come morning, that if Izuna falls, he will shatter and nothing in the world will ever piece him back together.

In that moment, he hates this war, hates the Senju, and hates his and their ancestors that started it all. His rage bubbles in his chest, burning like a forge fire, like a kiln. He draws on that rage and draws it out, shapes it into one desire, one mission.

In the crucible of his heart, the first embers of that desire for peace begin to glow. He will do whatever it takes to end this war, so that his brother can live without fear of dying, struck down just because of the uchiwa he bears on his back. He’s not sure how he’ll make it happen, but he will bring it about.

He won’t lose anyone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clear up since some stuff is implied/referenced: Tsubomi was Tajima's (forced) concubine and got pregnant with Madara and he forced her to keep the child since it would be his third heir, because you know, at that time, Uchiha and Senju were dropping like flies in the war.
> 
> Then Tajima's actual wife dies in battle and he forces Tsubomi to marry him and basically keeps her pregnant, resulting in Asahi and Izuna and eventually, she kills herself with poison to escape because Tajima was just going to keep getting her pregnant until she eventually died in childbirth.
> 
> I haven't decided if Madara even knows this or if it went over his head since he was young and unaware of his mother and father's arrangement.


End file.
